The first one Miranda waved at stopped for her. Telling the jarvey to drive to Portchester Square as fast as his horse could trot, she sprang into the aged carriage. Agitation, not awareness of the dirty seat, made her perch on the edge, hanging onto the strap. She must think, but her mind returned again and again to what she had just overheard. The judge’s order for committal was theirs, and someone—Mr. Redpath?—was impatient to lay his hands on his share of the loot. Lord Snell had reminded him of something to be done first, presumably the actual spiriting away of his victim. This afternoon. Whether because of the law’s delay or deliberately, he had waited until Mr. Bassett was gone. The reason for his help in obtaining HMS Adder for the young officer was now obvious. Mr. Bassett would never have allowed him to carry off Lady Wiston. Nor would Peter Daviot. Hence the introduction to the Explorers’ Club. Ought Miranda to fetch Mr. Daviot before she went home? She did not know where the club was.
